


Our own happiness

by Shitgetapen



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual, Asexy April, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shitgetapen/pseuds/Shitgetapen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The annoyed thought ‘why can’t you get them yourself’ flash through him only to realise that he had his own bed stand in an apartment that wasn't his and he really didn't know what to feel. His hand faltered when he went to pick up the glasses and he saw the book Jane Eyre its letters a bright gold glinting like lightning. “Do you ever think about us as a us?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our own happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyacoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/gifts).



> this was written for asexy april, which i was annoyed i didn't hear about sooner since like wow i have a month. So here's this and like i know its a spectrum so this is just one way to see it.

The clock reads 6:47am and Feuilly is awake and absently worried how the bed he’s in feels just as much his own as the one in his own dingy apartment, so he whispers to the body next to him “Hey you awake?”

Feuilly knows he is, Combeferre’s body is clock constantly set to 6:30am. Never the less he says it, and shoulder blade his face is resting on relax instantly, and even though he’s facing away from him he feel that he’s smiling.

“Yeah,” replies Combeferre sleepily punctuating it with an affected yawn that makes Feuilly scoff.

“You don’t sound it.”

“I’m not really,” he rumbles ad he turns round to face his- well he’s not sure what they are to each other, or even if they are each other’s but they work and they’re happy so he kisses his nose to hopefully get across this fondness they share. “Are you?”

“I slept like a dead thing. Only to wake up at four and feel like a zombie.”

“You look no better either.” The look Feuilly shot him could make any sane person turn and run or at least run as far as the kitchen and make him a coffee. But maybe it was because Combeferre was tired that he only laughed and winked. “You look mostly smudgy to be honest, can you get me my glasses?”

They were on the night stand like they always were next to a propped open book, Feuilly lifted himself up to reach over and get them. He had to lean over Combeferre to get them since they were on _his_ bed stand, which made the annoyed thought ‘why can’t you get them yourself’ flash through him only to realise that he had his own bed stand in an apartment that wasn’t his and he really didn’t know what to feel. His hand faltered when he went to pick up the glasses and he saw the book _Jane Eyre_ its letters a bright gold glinting like lightning _._ “Do you ever think about us as a _us_?”

The question had been burning at the back of his mind for a while now, ever since he started to look forward to nights in more than nights on the town. They never particularly aimed for a relationship, they did a great number of things but never that. They spoke at length about whatever interested them that moment (art, history, the pebble he picked up on the beach, Palestine) while the other listened patiently, soon this became applicable to any hour of the day. They gave each other the best advice over kitchen tables in the wee hours of the morning, and soon leaning on each other shoulders and clasping hands just became natural posture. They leant each other books, which soon became gifts that they’d stay behind to listen to while the other read, Combeferre sure and melodic, and Feuilly hesitant but passionate. And at some point while they did all this they became best friends and it was always ‘too late to go home,’ and kisses began when other forms of physical contact became pedestrian. Until now neither had said a word to acknowledge the change, because as far they could tell it never mattered. But still even lying in Combeferre’s bed Feuilly was worried he was taking it all too seriously 

Combeferre sensed the unease and brought his hands from his side to occupy themselves running up Feuilly’s side. “Is what’s been keeping you up?” he sighed, and he pressed a kiss to his stomach which was now stretched out in front of him, “yes I do, just a minute ago to be honest.”

The noise Feuilly made was something between a sound of frustration and one of contentment, he was about as telling as a cat, did he want attention? To go out? Or neither and attempt to scratch his face off if he tried to guess. Combeferre could only stand his ground and continue to run his hands up his sides in what he thought was a soothing way. He could feel his fingers bump over his ribs faintly and for a moment he feels worried with the distant thought that he should eat more, only to immediately come back to the matter at hand.

Feuilly picked up the book and glasses, and slid back into his spot where his face could be studied curiously. He did indeed look tired, big angry smudges were under his eyes and his feature looked much sharper in the half light. He just stared back opening and closing his mouth trying to urge the right words out of his mouth. “That’s good,” was what he settled for. Apparently this wasn’t the correct amount of detail because he was still being looked at with the same expression of expectation. “I just mean- argh. I can’t do this.”

“Carry on.”

Feuilly sighed heavily and did as he was told, “I’ve never had a relationship where the both of us felt the same way about sex, which is to say largely disinterested. So I guess I was just wondering if we counted, you know?”

Then Combeferre laughed and Feuilly felt the vibrations run through him too instantly comforting him, “is that all? Oh god Mille Feuille, sometimes you’re ridiculous. I like this agreement we have, I like how I don’t need to worry about if we’re in different place, because we’re both right here, and I like you. So we count, if you want to.”

They stared at each other for a moment smiling so hard their faces almost hurt, until Feuilly placed the forgotten glasses on his partners nose, “We count.” He closed the distance between them and kissed him softly, Combeferre instantly yielded letting Feuilly shuffle closer so they were flush against each other. Combeferre wrapped his arms around him with one settled on his hip and the other on his neck to deepen the kiss. They kissed lazily for a while, and Feuilly could see how stupid his worry had been. They simply fit together and he could lose himself in this kiss and not care because Combeferre kisses like the sunshine pouring through the window, and he’s not sure which is warmer. When they pull away from each other they’re still smiling (and those smiles don’t really fade for a few days).

“Do you want breakfast? Or shall I just let you sleep?” Combeferre said a little breathlessly, smoothing a piece of hair behind Feuilly’s ear.

“No, no just get some coffee and read to me.” He lets out a puff of a laugh, “I can’t believe you’re reading Jane Eyre it’s my favourite.”

“I know and I hadn’t read it for a while, and you mentioned it so- You saw it and freaked out that I remembered, didn’t you?”

“Just read or get me that coffee.” He buried his face into Combeferre’s shoulder to hide his blush, “why do you have to be so goddamn considerate.”

“Because we’re an us, and you’re stunning.” He said with a kiss.

“And you’re a sweetie, honeycomb. Now read me your stupid book.” Combeferre lifted the book out of Feuilly’s hand opening it to a random dog eared page and when he rubbed his eyes to see the words his smile only got wider.

“ _-speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, "Make my happiness--I will make yours._ "


End file.
